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He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?. ” The conversation hung for a moment.
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